


Tender Things

by pollinia



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Violence, neil is bad at gift-giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollinia/pseuds/pollinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Neil was twelve, he picked some wildflowers from the ditch beside a rest stop and gave them to his mother. She kept them in the cup holder of their car until a spider descended from the leaves on an invisible line of silk. Then she tossed them out the window and kept driving."</p><p>Neil's not very good at this, but he tries to give Andrew a birthday gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Things

When Neil was twelve, he picked some wildflowers from the ditch beside a rest stop and gave them to his mother. She kept them in the cup holder of their car until a spider descended from the leaves on an invisible line of silk. Then she tossed them out the window and kept driving.

***

(He was five when he unwrapped his single small birthday gift to reveal a gleaming pocket knife. The light from its keen edge matched the one in his father's eye.)

***

Neil doesn't have much when he ends up at Palmetto State, just the duffel bag he keeps slung over his shoulder. If he could cuff it to his wrist, he would.

The binder inside of it is the tenderest thing his mother ever gave him. It is money and contacts and a history he has to commit to memory. It is survival.

Before Christmas, he hands the binder to Kevin with a plea of, "Don't look at anything," and he has never been so vulnerable, not even with a bullet wound bleeding out. His heart beats out an angry warning inside his chest, but Kevin doesn't betray his trust. Instead, he hands it back to Neil when he returns, looking as disinterested as if Neil had given him pocket lint, old gum wrappers, a broken shoelace.

Neil doesn't know how to say thank you for a gift so enormous.

***

(Uncle Stuart sent him a pop gun when he was four. The loud noise of it frightened him and his father's anger at the reaction earned him a scar on his temple that no one can see unless they look close enough.)

***

So, surprise, surprise, he's really bad at this. 

Last year, he accompanied Renee when she picked out Andrew's birthday gift. He had nothing to contribute. He couldn't even remember what she bought.

He has given Andrew plenty of things, but they weren't exactly "things." He gave trust and secrets and cigarette smoke. He gave his promise to watch over Andrew's most prized possessions--Kevin, his car, his knives--when Andrew went away. He gave him, "Yes or no?"

And Andrew wants nothing anyway, so Neil consides them even.

***

They are on the roof. Neil's cigarette has burned down to the filter.

Andrew's head is still adorned with a crooked paper party hat, its string stretched under his chin. Nicky risked his very life to place it there, probably for a bet--Neil saw a lot of money change hands that night, but he never asked what for. Andrew glared at Nicky but kept the hat on.

There's a smudge of blue frosting just at the corner of Andrew's mouth, and Neil thinks maybe if they were different people, he would lean forward and swipe it off with his tongue. But they're not, so he doesn't.

Instead, he watches Andrew's feet hanging limp off the edge of the roof.

Andrew says, "You're staring," like he always does. He might as well say, "You're breathing," or "The moon pulls the tide over bones buried in the California sand," or "Life is mostly unfair, but sometimes it's all right."

Neil can't help it. Impulse control has never been his strong suit.

He leans back on his hands and watches the sky. It went dark an hour ago and they are bundled against the November cold, but he doesn't want to go back inside yet. He knows the rest of the Foxes are still in their dorm room, even though both of the birthday boys have long since disappeared with their significant...whatevers. 

With a sigh, he turns to Andrew. "Yes or no?" he asks.

Andrew frowns at him. "Yes."

Neil reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, its ragged edge torn from a handout he got in his economics class. He shoves it roughly into Andrew's hand.

Andrew doesn't look at it for clarity. He looks at Neil.

Neil turns his face back to the night sky. "Just in case," he says, "in case something happens."

Andrew only glares at him and tries to shove it back. "I don't know what that means," he says, "but I know I don't want it."

"We don't always get what we want," Neil answers and pushes himself off the ground. He heads back toward the stairwell, his breath condensing in the cold air, and he doesn't look back at Andrew. When he pauses at the door, he hears the crinkle of paper.

He doesn't need to look back to see Andrew staring down at the three little markings scrawled in messy pencil. They are everything; everything that is left.

"I keep the safe in under my bed," he says.

Andrew's voice is rough when he answers. "I know."

"I know you know what's in there. It's yours, if something happens."

Neil doesn't just mean the money. He doesn't mean the contacts that would guarantee Andrew is kept safe. He doesn't mean the secret histories tucked away in the pages.

He means: Trust.

He means: Let me watch your back like you watch mine.

Means: There is nothing left of me that I wouldn't give to you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come day hi to me on [Tumblr](http://polliniaa.tumblr.com)!


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